


Aware

by SoulOfAFangirl684



Series: GX Headcanons [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Emotional Distance, Expectations, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hypervigilance, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pressure, Reconciliation, emotional numbing, english names used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 20:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18080096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulOfAFangirl684/pseuds/SoulOfAFangirl684
Summary: Zane had spent his whole life embracing the numbness that seemed to come so naturally to him. He'd grown comfortable being constantly on guard, viewing this progression as strength. But maybe he was wrong.





	Aware

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t mind me… I’ll just be over here… Raising the GX fandom’s story count one angsty one-shot at a time.
> 
> I found Zane’s character to be very interesting… Particularly once I reached the end and he really didn’t get any sort of redemption arc. He started out as this cool, if a bit harsh, levelheaded guy who was firmly on the right side… Only to turn into this dark, edgy asshole who may have still been on the right side, but not for the right reasons. And I was totally expecting some little arc where he comes back around by the end and is totally repentant and all that… and it doesn’t really happen. (He has a few moments where he reconnects with Syrus, but that final duel where he passes down his old deck really felt like it was more about Syrus than Zane.) Which just made him all the more interesting to me. Like, maybe we were all mistaken in thinking this darker development of his character was something that needed to be changed. So I wanted to explore that, with another hypothetical backstory that might have motivated him to be this way.

Zane Truesdale didn’t care much for reputations, but he knew a thing or two about expectations. Sometimes it felt like his entire life was just one long journey in learning how to numb himself to the suffocating weight of those expectations.

Some might say that was just the price to be paid for talent, but Zane knew better. His peers saw the pressure to win his duels, get good grades, and maintain his spot at the top of the school. But it was so much more than that. No action ever went unwatched. And it had always been that way. Sitting in class, the teachers always turned to him for the right answer. Just walking down the halls, he was meant to have the solution to every conflict he might encounter. He was the one who always knew where a classmate’s strategy had gone wrong and how they could improve it, who could anticipate every move before it was made, who managed to maintain everyone’s respect and turn lovestruck girls down without tarnishing their opinions of him.

He knew he came across as unapproachable. That was another price that came attached to that level of preparation—constantly being on edge. That was the real skill Zane Truesdale had honed throughout the years. Knowing when to speak, what to say, how to impress. And alternately when to sit back, bow your head, and shut up. Or when you _had_ to step forward and intercept the collision, because the person in the line of fire was already about to shatter into a million pieces.

Because that was where this had really started. Zane wasn’t the type to soften that blow by lying to himself.

His oldest memories were of his mother cowering behind whatever was available while his father raged across the room. Zane grew up to a soundtrack of shouting, pleading, crashing, and breaking. It was no wonder his peers at the academy were entranced early on—before his skill all but isolated him—by the way nothing could make him flinch. In fact, most treated it like a game—obnoxiously dropping their books down when they slipped into the seat behind him, suddenly sending cards flying his way, rather than civilly handing them over, when a duel called for them to exchange monsters and the like. Especially as he started rising above the rest, it seemed all his classmates wanted the distinction of being the one to rattle Zane.

All but one.

**…………**

Zane didn’t think much of his roommate at first. He wasn’t surprised he had one. Single rooms were a privilege usually given only to the upperclassmen, but the younger students were grouped together based on their entrance scores. So he could vouch for the other boy’s dueling skills at least, but in all other aspects, Atticus Rhodes was nothing like he might have expected.

For someone who clearly favored Dark-attribute monsters, Atticus was comically upbeat. His positivity started getting on Zane’s nerves from their first seconds together. And yet… Atticus had a few things going for him.

He was friendly but not clingy. Zane set himself apart from the crowd early on, but Atticus never tried to use their roommate status to ride his coattails. He was good enough on his own—and knew it. They both did. Zane and Atticus went head to head at the end of their first week to demonstrate for the class some of the skills they were learning in real time, and Zane won… but just barely.

When they crossed the stage at the end of the duel to shake hands, Zane reappraised him for a moment, silently but openly, and found Atticus watching him with the same look in his eyes. At last, Zane nodded. “Thank you for a good duel. I think we could be good rivals.”

Atticus held onto his hand a little tighter for a second longer. The boy Zane was just getting used to living with grinned a little wider and actually winked at him. “Sure. For now. But man, we’ve _got_ to work on your stage presence!”

**…………**

For all his enthusiasm and stubborn good-naturedness, Atticus turned out to be a surprisingly easy person to live with. Well. Okay, his brightly-colored, totally mismatched clothing on their days off were an eye sore. And his ukulele playing could use some work. Though not quite as much as his overall sense of rhythm. And apparent need to serenade anyone who gave him a second look.

But no. Atticus didn’t have any true deal-breaker habits. He wasn’t practicing his songwriting late into the night and didn’t have any trouble getting out of bed in the morning or motivating himself to study. He kept the chaos resulting from his extracurriculars strictly contained to his side of the room. He may have been determined to be Zane’s friend, but he understood the concept of personal space too.

People were drawn to Atticus. So it felt like no time at all before they became a trio. And Yusuke Fujiwara was… maybe a little odd, but also turned out to be a decent duelist and companion. Before he knew it, Zane found himself getting comfortable here. The downtime spent in his dorm room was actually… relaxing.

They were about three months into their stay here on the island when he first ran into the consequences of letting his guard down.

Zane had never been insecure, but he was extremely self-conscious. Constant awareness of his surroundings, those inhabiting it, and the general atmosphere those people’s moods and mindsets provided was another of those skills he’d picked up in childhood. But nothing could lull a person into a false sense of security quite like familiarity.

And when a roommate’s presence became comfortable, inhibitions had a way of slowly fading away. Zane knew Atticus was seeing more of him than he typically allowed—those times when he’d come home after a long day and just collapse onto his bed or slump over at his desk, let the exhaustion wipe all of his control away. Atticus never brought attention to these moments, but Zane had caught a few smiles on the other boy’s face. He certainly put enough effort into trying to get Zane to loosen up.

But then came the night when Zane really forgot himself. Tests didn’t usually wear on him like this one had, but it had come on the heels of a long night. So when they finally got back to their dorm—with Atticus in pretty much the same state—the only thing on Zane’s mind was changing into something more comfortable and catching up on his sleep.

The dorms in Obelisk Blue were really more like small apartment complexes, with each room set off from a common living area and bathroom. That afternoon, Zane had dropped his constant vigilance the second that front door closed behind them. He didn’t realize Atticus was still in the common room when he tugged off the shirt to his uniform. Not until he heard the gasp.

Zane understood immediately what had happened. All of his senses woke back up, and his movements stilled. He didn’t allow himself to become jittery, rush to assure Atticus that his eyes had been playing tricks on him. If Atticus continued to keep his mouth shut, he would be all too willing to go on like nothing had happened, but he suspected this might be the thing to override his new friend’s careful respect of his personal space. And he was right. Zane felt rather than heard the slow footsteps crossing the space between them. He didn’t turn around or snap at the other boy when he felt fingertips ghosting over that spot on his back. He couldn’t really blame him. It was an ugly scar, even after all these years.

Zane remained perfectly still as Atticus composed himself and retreated back to their little living area. He had begun moving again, rifling through his drawers for a suitable nightshirt, when Atticus first spoke, his voice steady. “Where’d you get that?”

“My father’s belt,” Zane answered in a voice that was equally steady, sounding like they could be talking about their decks, or the test they’d just taken, or any number of more ordinary things.

“How?” Atticus asked, his steadiness slipping a bit.

New shirt in hand, Zane turned back to his roommate and leveled him with a look. “He picked it up and hit me with it, obviously.”

The expression on Atticus’s face calmed again, as if for a second there he’d just forgotten to breathe. The two boys just stood there for a moment, Atticus not breaking eye contact, Zane making no move to pull on his shirt. From this distance, Atticus couldn’t see the smaller marks his childhood left behind. The cigarette burn up by his left shoulder. The smaller scar just above the last knuckle on his right thumb, from picking up the shards of a vase so his brother—only three years old at the time—wouldn’t step on them by accident.

At last, a quiet understanding passed between them and time started moving forward again. Zane finished changing, crawled into bed and drifted off without too much trouble.

The next day, things seemed almost back to normal, though maybe Atticus was watching him a little more carefully than usual. His roommate was perceptive, he couldn’t deny that. And more importantly, he didn’t seem apt to share any of his findings with Fujiwara. So Zane didn’t rush to build up any walls between them. But he knew Atticus was making connections he might have missed before.

A suspicion that was cemented in later the next week. His classmates were at it again, trying to get into his head. There was one in particular—a boy rumored to be on his way to a demotion to Ra Yellow—who was particularly… troublesome.

Zane and Atticus had gotten to the lecture hall early, as they typically did. As other students began filtering in, scattered conversations converged on the silence, leaving them with a constant dull roar. Still, Zane was aware of the person settling into the seat behind them. And he’d gotten a sense of their timing.

Just when the presence behind them had settled in to mingle with the rest of the chaos of the room, something came flying through the narrow space between the two boys’ work stations and onto the floor before them. Something small but heavy—like a pouch of pens or other supplies—though Zane didn’t move to investigate. At the same time, the boy behind them shouted, “Whoa!” with excessive volume—like it had slipped out of his hands—leaning forward to be that much closer to Zane’s ear.

True to form, Zane didn’t react in any way, but Atticus jumped beside him. And, rather than roll his eyes and move on like he might have in the past, he whirled around to confront the boy harassing his friend.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, his anger contained just enough to make his target sit up and listen but not immediately bite back. “With _all_ of you?” Atticus went on, turning his gaze on the other students in their little section giggling at the boy’s antics. “Honestly. Maybe if you spent a little more time on your own skills, there wouldn’t _be_ this gap between you and Zane that you can’t seem to get over.”

The silence from Atticus’s unprecedented outburst started in their section of seats and slowly spread out to the rest of the class, with whispers picking back up again as some of the others tried to figure out what had happened. Their teacher finally walked in amidst all this tension and was probably the only thing that kept their classmate from retaliating. He had a clear view of the ugly expressions on both the boys’ faces, though, and he came to a halt on his way down to the podium.

“What’s going on?” he asked. When all he got in response was more tense silence, he switched tracks. “Zane?”

His top student just managed to suppress his sigh. And eye roll. “Just a minor argument, sir. I’m afraid Atticus here isn’t feeling very well.”

He gave his friend a harsh look—just subtle enough to go unnoticed by everyone else—and the other boy wisely backed down. Ducking his head and looking appropriately shamed, Atticus answered weakly, “I’m sorry, sir. He dropped something and I just… snapped. My head’s been hurting since I got up this morning. I think it’s the start of a migraine.”

The silence returned for just a second as the man surveyed his student. But, finally, he accepted this apology and explanation. Zane was sure it helped that Atticus had never been one to cause trouble before, but he also had to admit that his acting was pretty impressive. (His music should take notes.) Their teacher nodded. “Well, I’m glad there won’t be a problem. I’m sure Zane wouldn’t mind walking you to the infirmary?”

There was steel underlining his words, letting them all know that neither of these were requests. But there was nothing Zane knew quite like how to play his part. He rose from his seat, the unnecessary, “I’d be glad to,” rolling off his tongue before he’d even sharply prodded Atticus to his own feet.

His friend kept his eyes down as the two made a smooth exit. Neither one of them said a word… until Zane’s hand closed around his upper arm like a vice, and he pulled Atticus sharply around a corner and down a back hallway. He could see the easygoing quip on his friend’s lips, ready to brush the tension away, but Zane beat him to it.

“What the hell was that?” It shot out of his mouth with a harshness even Atticus had never seen from him. And he was taken aback for a moment, but stubbornness hardened his eyes a second later.

“I knew you weren’t going to say anything, and it’s about time someone did. That guy’s a jackass. They all are. It’s petty. And they have no idea what they’re really laughing at.”

That’s what this was really about, as Zane had already known. It only stoked the fire inside him to hear Atticus address it outright. “I don’t want your pity.”

The other boy didn’t look away or falter for even a second. “Good, because I wouldn’t give it to you even if you did. I don’t think you need pity—maybe not even sympathy—just someone in your corner.”

They stared each other down for another few seconds. It had always been something he’d appreciated about Atticus, the way he was totally unaffected by Zane’s reputation and cold attitude. Regardless of dueling skill, Atticus was someone he could respect as an equal in many ways.

And maybe that’s why he let it go and gave his friend this victory. And let his guard down again later that night.

He joined Atticus on the couch in their room’s common area and, without any prodding, started in on his tale.

**…………**

He didn’t have any one moment that stood out as the day he realized his home life was not all that it was supposed to be. Maybe he’d just been too young to have that sort of awareness. Neither of his parents had any family. There was nothing to take him out of his little sphere. His mother used to shield him from the worst of it, hide him away in his room when his father came home in a particularly bad mood. But then she had Syrus when he was just three, and that was the start of the bruises appearing on his own forearms. She just didn’t have the energy to constantly keep an eye on him, keep him from stumbling into his dad’s path at the wrong time during that last stage of the pregnancy, and then there had been a baby to look after.

So Zane picked up a few crucial life lessons real fast. At first he had literally stayed awake until he passed out late into the night, listening for the next conflict. Then that constant awareness of his surroundings had slowly settled into being a natural part of his consciousness.

The more he divulged, with Atticus watching and listening carefully, without a hint of reaction or judgment, the easier it became. He kept going, talking about how that awareness had progressed over the years.

How school had been an escape, but only briefly as he soon became hyperaware of everything that was expected of him in that setting, every second of every day, too. How Syrus got older… but was still the baby of the family and the one their mother put all her time into. How a distance had begun to grow between them almost from the very second Zane had started learning to take care of himself.

Something made him keep the talk of that distance from his mother and brother brief. Maybe it was knowing how close Atticus was to his own younger sibling. But he did end it on the note that, at five years old, he wasn’t sure Syrus ever really got to the point where he understood just how bad things were in their house. And somehow, there was also just this implicit understanding that Atticus heard the things he was not saying. The way he now saw his friend's lack of reaction for what it really was-- an instant freezing of all his muscles, just for a moment, while he assessed the unexpected situation, the possibility of danger, before reacting accordingly.

A heart attack brought things to an abrupt end. His father wasn’t all that old. Just bad genes. He described being eight years old and being rushed to the hospital, where his father had already slipped into a coma. Standing beside the hospital bed, staring down at the man who would storm through their house and make the rest of them cower, looking frail for the first time in the eight years Zane had known him. He watched as those lines denoting his vital signs all flattened out, not feeling a thing.

It was one of the nurses who finally ushered him away as they began unhooking all the tubes and wires from his father’s corpse, making all these simpering platitudes as she did. But he saw her shudder as she turned away, as if his absence of any sort of grief was the disturbing thing here.

He stood instead with his mother and brother, both in tears over the man who’d made their lives hell, and he wanted to scream. _Don’t you get it? The nightmare is over!_ But he kept his words locked inside with everything else. And they turned out not to be true anyway.

**…………**

“I guess I thought I’d be able to relax when we finally got home. That things would finally be normal,” he finished softly. “And for Syrus and our mom, it did. For the most part. His life insurance tided us over until she could find a job, and life just… went on. But it was like I was stuck. I’ve never really gotten out of that mindset, constantly needing to be on guard for the next thing that would come our way…”

A touch of sympathy showed through Atticus’s expression for the first time as he shifted in his seat, a humorless little smile forming on his lips. “Some scars don’t leave a physical presence. But you have the power to change the things you don’t like about yourself, hone the things that need work.”

Zane looked him directly in the eye. “I can’t go back and change things, Atticus. And I wouldn’t if I could. I would… lose too much ground in the process.”

“I suppose there is a price to be paid for innocence,” he conceded.

A price Zane had gotten a front-row view of. He didn’t go into the way the distance between himself and his family had only grown wider as their lives went on. Syrus had never had to grow up before his time the way Zane had, and the older they got, the less patience he had for his brother’s naivete. And he and his mother did their mutual best not to be caught in the same room without some sort of buffer between them. Syrus liked to joke that, if nothing else, their mom would claim that he got the looks in the family. Completely missing the implications under her words—that Zane was the one who took after their asshole father.

**…………**

Zane would never know how this revelation might have changed their friendship going forward. He had to imagine Atticus would have pushed him to dig deeper and pursue true, unburdened happiness… or something along those lines.

But then Atticus and Fujiwara went missing shortly into their second year, and Zane was left to his own devices once more. He was not assigned a new roommate and did not have to go to great lengths to maintain his distance from everyone else. One step forward, three or four back.

By the time his third year was almost over and Atticus made it back to them, the distance was just too great. The two boys had once been on equal ground, and now one had a year and a half of his life to catch up on while the other was preparing to go out and make his mark on the world. Zane went to visit him in the infirmary just once. It quickly became apparent that they had little to say to one another. Atticus now had his own demons to work through, and Zane was of no help in that department.

**…………**

There was no way to describe, really, the change he underwent when he began struggling in the pro circuit. Well, that wasn’t true for everyone. He could think of plenty who were eager to describe his descent into underground dueling. He knew many of his new peers saw him as a spoiled prep school kid who went off the deep end after a blow to his ego, but he really didn’t care. But for Zane himself, it was so much more.

The path he had carefully crafted for his life had crumbled down around him. And so… for the first time since he’d been young enough to be truly naïve, Zane let go. The vigilance was just doomed to be forever a part of his daily life, apparently, but fuck everyone’s expectations.

Zane had never been anxious to be liked. He was just conscious of doing the right thing. This had gotten him on the good side of the right people in the past, but now he was going to focus on what _he_ wanted. And let the judgment and whispers glance off of him the way he’d once learned to dodge his father’s blows.

**…………**

He had gathered a few of what he would consider to be real friends during his time at Duel Academy. Zane was getting criticism from all sides, but his old friends were particularly passionate about ‘rescuing’ him from the darkness. For the most part, he was able to brush them off just as easily. Only one made him falter.

Chancellor Sheppard had kept after him in his nosy, well-meaning way. Zane knew the man considered him to be his personal protégé. He’d stubbornly kept Zane up to date on what his friends were up to—and how worried they were about him—no matter how many times he told Sheppard he didn’t care.

But seeing Atticus again did give him pause. He’d been assured that the boy had made a full recovery and returned to his old happy-go-lucky self. Zane knew Sheppard was an optimistic old fool. He didn’t have to look long to see how much had changed underneath Atticus’s cheery exterior. The two had once discussed how naivete was a trait that, once lost, could never be regained. His old friend had firsthand experience under his belt now… but still so much room to grow.

Zane didn’t feel bad about his win. He hadn’t felt much of anything for quite a while now, come to think of it. But he did feel a spark of something fizzling under that now-familiar numbness—(‘darkness’ as Atticus would call it)—pride. His friend’s intentions were good but misguided.

Darkness was a complex entity. It was not all pain and abusing your negative emotions. There was a strength to be gained from darkness too. Sometimes ‘selfishness’ was simply learning to put yourself first. He had made great strides during their duel—even just considering putting the Nightshroud mask back on—but Atticus still had a long way to go to truly understand Zane. And himself.

But Zane held no ill will towards him. In fact, for the moment or so that he allowed himself to reflect on Atticus and his progress, he hoped his old roommate _did_ grow to understand darkness’s full potential. He wouldn’t be opposed to meeting up again when he did.

**…………**

It didn’t happen quite the way either one of them would have imagined. It was a good thing Zane had let go of all his obsessive preparations. Even he was a little rattled by being transported to another dimension. (Teaming up with Aster had been a pleasant surprise. Or rather, surprisingly pleasant. Their own duel—the loss that had started him down this new path of self-exploration—felt like it had happened a million years ago. And a part of him recognized that the other boy had grown a lot since then in his own way. The tension between them was minimal, and they worked well together.) And at the end of it all, this time it was Atticus visiting _him_ in the hospital.

“I heard you’ll make a full recovery.” He smirked. “As long as you take it easy. So I figure it’s about a 50-50 chance.”

Zane huffed out a soft laugh, even that effort eliciting a dull ache in his chest. “Sounds about right.”

They were both quiet for a moment, watching the dawn slowly light up the room. Atticus had snuck into the infirmary early, long before visiting hours. That was enough of a clue for Zane to know that he was looking for more than just a casual conversation. He was not disappointed.

“So… I’ve been thinking I owe you an apology.”

Zane continued to watch the sun rise, appearing disinterested. “I don’t bother holding grudges.”

“Oh, of course,” Atticus replied lightly. “I thought it was obvious that I was apologizing for _my_ sake.”

Zane finally turned back to meet his eyes, and they both had small smiles on their faces. “You and your conscience… Go on then… if you must.”

“I guess it’s just as much about expressing gratitude as apologizing. When you came back to Duel Academy and I saw how much you’d changed… I jumped to conclusions. I didn’t even try to hear you out, and I’m sorry.”

Zane brushed this away easily. “It’s not like I was rushing to explain myself.”

Atticus had to smile at this. His old friend was _still_ entirely unapologetic. “Maybe you shouldn’t have had to, though. I’ve gotten to know your brother pretty well lately, and we’ve talked a lot about how Jaden changed near the end of our time in that other realm. I wasn’t around for that, of course, but Syrus explained how Jaden had to accept his inner darkness as a part of himself before he could move forward. It really made me think… About my own darkness, and how I’ve been pushing it away ever since I got my mind back.”

“I think you would have made progress on that front regardless,” Zane told him. And if there was one thing his unsympathetic attitude guaranteed, it was sincerity. Atticus could be certain he wasn’t saying anything just to make him feel better. “You were able to put aside your fear to duel _me_.”

“Yes… I’m not so sure which roads we’re walking anymore, but I want you to keep moving forward too, Zane. When we were kids—god, was it really only a few years ago?—I just wanted you to be able to move on from your past and be happy. But maybe my ideas of what _happiness_ looked like were too specific. As far as my own future goes, I’ve still got some things to figure out. But I want you to live your life the way _you_ want to, Zane.”

Zane felt a sudden surge of warmth towards his old roommate—the best friend he’d ever had. “Don’t worry. I plan to.”

**…………**

But Atticus was not his most frequent visitor by a long shot. Even after Jaden Yuki’s miraculous return, Syrus almost never left his side.

Zane had watched his little brother make great strides while in that dark world—far greater progress than in his previous two and a half years at the academy. Things were still a little tense between them, but he and Syrus were on better terms than ever before.

It was on one of his quieter recovery days that Syrus was called away from his bedside to take a phone call. When he returned, he did his best to smile normally, but Zane could see the conflict behind his eyes a mile away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked without preamble.

“Nothing,” he tried to reassure his brother. It was a feeble attempt. Far too reminiscent of the younger, insecurity-ridden little boy who’d first arrived at Duel Academy.

“Who was on the phone, Syrus?” Zane was sharp and direct, leaving no room for argument. Syrus sighed. He knew when a battle was lost.

“That was Mom. She… wanted to know how you’re doing. She’s been worried about you.”

Zane didn’t bother to soften his scoff. “Clearly she hasn’t been _that_ worried.”

Syrus averted his eyes. He couldn’t really argue with that. It had been an elephant in the room for some time now that their mother had not bothered to make the journey to come see her older son when they’d thought he might be on his deathbed. And apparently had no plans to make the journey now to check in on what would be a slow and painful recovery.

“It’s just… She’s not sure she’d be welcome. She thinks you resent her.”

“That’s because I _do_ , Sy.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“Don’t waste your energy worrying about it. It’s a little late to try and salvage things now. That relationship hasn’t been intact since I was about three years old.”

A sad smile formed on Syrus’s face. “Since _I_ was born.”

Zane didn’t let himself get bogged down by his brother’s gloom. “It is what it is. We just didn’t agree on her priorities.”

“You think she should have taken us and left,” his brother supplied softly.

Zane sighed, his words hard. “Just leave it, Syrus.”

But the younger boy ignored him, instead reaching forward to take Zane’s hand in both of his, turning it over so that the light caught the thin scar above his thumb. “I know you think I don’t remember anything—that I was too young—but I remember enough. And Mom and I have talked about it a little since he died. She’s got scars too, you know. And we didn’t have anywhere to go.”

“A shelter would have been better than that hell.” The venom in his voice was perhaps a little much for a response to his brother’s mild tone, but Syrus didn’t flinch away from it like he might have not too long ago.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You’re right.”

Syrus gently set his hand back down atop the bedspread, and Zane started to turn away, ready to move on to the next subject. But he turned sharply back at the sudden movement in his periphery. He didn’t have time to protest before Syrus’s arms were around him.

The embrace was gentle but steady, providing warmth without putting pressure on Zane’s healing body. He tensed reflexively but slowly relaxed into it. It was not quite an apology. Perhaps more of an acknowledgement that neither one of them was at fault, but that they’d face it together from here on out.

Syrus really had grown up, Zane reflected in the silence. He’d known it was an inevitability—which was perhaps why he’d come to resent their mother so much for trying to preserve his innocence. Their lifestyle had demanded that they be survivors, and no one survived with their innocence intact.

This closeness was something he’d spent so much of his life fighting against. But maybe he hadn’t moved on as entirely as he’d thought. Maybe all those grudges and negative emotions were something that _had_ to be felt before one could truly move past them. Zane had spent his whole life trying to brush them away, embracing the numbness that seemed to come so naturally to him. He’d grown comfortable with being constantly on guard, viewing this progression as strength. But maybe he was wrong.

It was a frightening thing to even consider, but for the first time _ever_ , he embraced that fear. The way forward was not always obvious. But Zane could feel that he was changing yet again. And he was ready.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I started this off with a really long author’s note, but there was still another ‘behind-the-story-idea’ topic that I wanted to spend some time on. It’s not called out by name in the story, but the idea for a fic exploring Zane’s character doubled as a means to explore a lesser-acknowledged aspect of PTSD: emotional numbing. There are so may interesting studies out there on the topic—and I encourage anyone who’s interested in checking them out to do so—but the main interest for me was really just in representing something that doesn’t get the spotlight enough. When PTSD is discussed, the focus tends to be on nightmares and flashbacks so vivid they take a person out of reality completely… you know, the symptoms that make it very, very clear that something is wrong. And while hypervigilance—which I also tried to showcase here—can also fall into that category, a lot of Zane’s reactions to his childhood abuse are subtler. He’s put together to the point where everyone around him is encouraged to emulate him, not realizing that it stems from an extremely unhealthy mindset. I’m not trying to write my own paper or anything, so I think I’ll leave this here, but I just wanted to highlight one other aspect I was trying to incorporate here. And it makes me curious. While reading this one-shot is PTSD something that came to mind as you saw how Zane’s childhood affected him?


End file.
